


There Aren’t Enough Letters to Spell Our Love

by My_Mind_Palace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 8,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Mind_Palace/pseuds/My_Mind_Palace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh darling, from A to Z you just do something to me...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anger

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this was literally "A Fangirl's First ABC's". 
> 
> This work will of course have 26 chapters, one for each letter of the english alphabet. We will be posting a chapter daily (fingers crossed), with one of us (C or G) writing the chapters on alternating days. If you're as curious as we are to see how letters like "X" turn out, you should stay a while :)

**Anger**

_A strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility._

********

 

“Sherlock! Sheeeeeeeeeeeerlock!!”

A muffled yell from the other end of their flat startled Sherlock from his nap on the couch. As the irritated footsteps approached, Sherlock began to make out some muttering, “bloody twat of a boyfriend he is, a damn two year old and I’m the one who’s got to pick up his messes….” Sherlock huffed in annoyance. Not this again, he thought to himself.

As John aggressively made his way over to his boyfriend, he began, “Sherlock, could you please explain to me what the hell your moldy socks are doing on the kitchen table.”

Sherlock signed and began to explain, “It’s for science John.”

At this response, John seemed to visibly shake with rage. “SHERLOCK FOR THE LAST GODDAMN TIME YOU CAN’T USE SCIENCE AS AN EXCUSE FOR DOING WHATEVER THE HELL YOU PLEASE!”

And all of a sudden, John felt lips press against his own. “Sherlock, you know that I’m not distracted that easily.” Sherlock paid the doctor no mind, he simply continued his kissing, beginning his trail at John’s lips, then traveling down to his neck…

“Sherlock.”

“Mmm, yes John?”

“We are continuing this conversation later. Don’t think you got off this easy.”

Sherlock simply smirked against his boyfriend’s neck. “Of course, whatever you say.” And continued his small kisses.

~~~

Fighting definitely wasn’t the couple’s favorite pastime. But John couldn’t deny one thing:

Anger definitely led to the best makeup sex.

 

FIN

 


	2. Broken

**Broken**

_(Of a person) Having given up all hope; despairing_

********

To a lover I never had,

 

Denial is a funny thing. We only put ourselves through it because we know we want something so much, it could destroy us. We convince ourselves it’ll be easier to live with the regret of a missed opportunity then the regret of a taken one. It’s a defense mechanism, you see. A way to stop the pain, maybe before it has a chance to happen, maybe after. But, see, the pain is still there, just hovering out of our field of view. And no matter how much we deny it, it doesn’t just go away.

 

I remember how you used to be so much braver than I was. I, who could face chaos and tanks, could not bring myself to face chance and truth. There was too much uncertainty for me. And yet, there was never any for you. I remember how patient you were with me; ironic really, considering who you were. The signs you gave that I always tried to ignore. A smile there, a stolen touch here. The silent invitation that never vanished from your eyes. The songs in the night no one else was meant to hear.

You were so much braver.

I only have one regret. I want you to know that, you must, even if I won’t be able to tell you in person. I don’t regret a single thing; I miss your madness, I long for your lunatic mannerisms, and I would beg to watch your brilliance once again. You will never be a regret for me, nothing that you did ever will be. I regret that no one ever loved you the way you deserved to be loved. I wish someone had not been as cowardly as I was, I wish someone had held you close once and told you how much you’re worth. You’re priceless, not perfect, and god, I would give a world to tell you that. I was a coward, and I still am. Here I am, running from you again. From the way you won’t stop haunting me.

You were my world, and I could never even bring myself to tell. Denial is a funny thing, see. The pain is always creeping in, we can always still see it, no matter how hard we try to deny. I’m done with denial now. There’s no reason to deny anymore, and it’s not fair to you or me.

I love you Sherlock. Forgive me for being a coward. I promise, when we see each other again, I’ll never stop saying it.

~~~

“The shocking news of Dr. John H. Watson’s death have reach the media early this morning, after this letter was posted to the doctor’s popular blog. It was well know that Dr. Watson was a close friend of the so-called consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, who committed suicide three months ago. Police are saying there is a direct correlation between the two deaths, as is mentioned…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble by G   
> (The first Drabble was by C, but since AO3 gets a little wonky sometimes, we're not allowed to add an end note to the first chapter. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Oh well, so be it)


	3. Cuddle

**Cuddle**

_To hold close in one's arms as a way of showing love or affection._

********

 

 

John shifted from his comfortable position on the bed, and turned to look at the man sat beside him. The pair had just settled down for the night after Chinese and crap telly, as per usual. Sherlock was not ready for sleep quite yet, and was sat up reading next to John, who laid beside him. John had one arm around his husband’s leg, and the two were breathing quietly in harmony.

John reveled in these peaceful moments, ones where he didn’t have to chase after the sociopathic genius he had married. (Not to say that John didn’t treasure every one of those times, however, they were fairly taxing.) He loved sitting in bed next to the man he loved and listening to the sounds Sherlock made as he read. On occasion, Sherlock would read aloud to John, and John would simply sit in silence and soak up the sound of his husband’s smooth voice. Tonight, Sherlock’s choice of literature was of no particular interest to John, thus the silence.

Feeling a light touch on the back of his neck, John rolled a bit closer to the man on the other side of the bed. The couple locked eyes and Sherlock gave a small smile. “Good?”

John sighed happily, “Perfect.”

And with that, Sherlock flipped the bedside lamp off and closed his book. He adjusted his position until he was in John’s sturdy arms, and then he was still.

If asked, Sherlock never revealed that he was the small spoon. In fact, (and Sherlock would never admit this out loud) cuddling his husband was his absolute favorite thing to do.

 

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for taking the time to read, it really makes me glad to see people enjoying my and my co-author's writing. As you can see, I decided to write sort of a pick-me-up from the last chapter :) Anyways, love you all and hope to see you very soon!  
> xx  
> ~Drabble and note by C


	4. Domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm actually feeling pretty proud that we've managed to post everyday so far, hopefully we can keep it up :) My day has been going great so far, and I hope everyone else's has been the same! Lots of love, see you all soon.  
> xx  
> ~Note from C, chapter by G

**Domestic**

_Of or relating to the running of a home or to family relations_

********

There was something very pleasing about being somewhere warm during the rain. John could remember one too many nights spent chasing some lunatic or another through the frigid rain, and though he loved all of his memories with Sherlock...well, he supposed he just loved some more than others. Like this memory, young as it was, would be much more favored. John liked the mundane moments that spoke the loudest, the quiet that screamed a story. Their story, to be precise. John loved Sherlock, but sometimes he mourned the fact that he couldn’t hear these moments speak. The amiable whistle of a cheerful kettle, the righteous roaring of a fire. The song the rain made as it tried to lure them back outside.

~~~

John loved the little things that only he could see when he was at home, the secrets he was allowed to stow away. A tousled consulting detective in the mornings, an eager and oh, so willing one in the night. The feeling of warm, pale skin pressed to him everywhere, while dark curls caressed his face. A deep voice getting to be more breath than sound with each passing moment. The kind of reverence that clever eyes gave to him, and him alone...

~~~

In different moments, John loves the innocence, the simplicity. The way he lets the cup rest on his lower lip while his tea cools. The way he curls up on the couch when he’s feeling moody, or the way he springs from the couch when he’s feeling excited. The violin carefully put away, and the shirts that smell like him...

~~~

And right here, right now, in a memory as young as this, John loved the sound of the telly that masked the rain, and the smell of tea in the air. John loved the ramblings of a certain consulting detective, one who refused to leave the kitchen until John did. John loved the feel of long arms wrapping themselves around him as he got out the milk, and the quiet kisses they shared in between spooning out the sugar. John loved the warmth, the mundane, and he really had nothing to mourn.

 

For though Sherlock would never tell, he could hear the moments speak too.


	5. Elegant

**Elegant**

_Pleasingly graceful and stylish in appearance or manner; sophisticated_

********

 Hamish Watson-Holmes stirred about in his bed, fitful and unable to sleep. There were two possible reasons for this; Either the chocolate he had eaten about twenty minutes ago was a large mistake, and the high amount of sugar in the small square was coming back to haunt him. Or, it could have something to do with the sounds of his fathers moving about downstairs.

~~~

The consulting detective and his partner (now retired from their once hectic lives) had recently taken up dancing as a pastime for the evenings.

 

And all three of them had to admit it: the two of them were surprisingly good. They would dance for hours, taking pleasure in the simplicity of it and the closeness of each other. John would place his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back, and the two would sway in unison with clasped hands and quiet breaths. . Occasionally, Sherlock would lean atop is husband’s crown and sigh with contentment. John also took pleasure in resting his head on Sherlock’s chest and listening to him breathe in the peaceful atmosphere. When in this position, Sherlock would whisper sweet nothings into John’s ear, and circumstantially, the couple would chat in hushed voices.

 

And in John’s opinion, a dancing Sherlock was the best Sherlock.

 

A dancing Sherlock was the picture of elegance and grace: all smooth lines and cheekbones. John secretly admired his husband’s finesse, his ability to move about with such an air of confidence.

 

As the song’s final chords played out of the speakers, Sherlock took half a step back from his partner and looked into his eyes. “We should probably make sure Hamish is alright.”

 

“Oh I’m sure Hamish could do without us for a couple of minutes…..”

Sherlock scoffed, “A couple minutes? John you really do overestimate yourself sometimes.”

 

~~~

And yes, maybe Hamish had to suffer a bit from his fathers dancing, but he would never have it another way.

 

 

FIN

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By C


	6. Flirtatious

**Flirtatious**

_Behaving in such a way as to suggest a playful sexual attraction to someone_

********

“John.”

John jumped a bit as his name was whispered directly into his ear, nearly dropping the pasta he was going to drain in the sink.

“Shi- Sherlock, give a man some warning!” Sherlock was standing directly behind him, and John could feel his breath coming out warm on the top of his head. Turning around to give Sherlock a bit of a glare, John noticed there was a strange light in his eyes to match the wicked grin on his face.

“What are you doing John?”

“I’m making dinner, remember, I told you over an hour ago,” John said, humoring Sherlock. Pouring the pasta into a colander in the sink and setting down the steaming pot, John placed his hands on either side of the sink. Leaning over him, Sherlock snaked his arms down John’s so their hands touched.

“I’m not feeling particularly hungry for _pasta_ right now John...I think something else would be _far_ more delicious,” Sherlock said, a smirk John couldn’t see set firmly on his lips.

Nosing his way into John’s hair and breathing deeply, Sherlock removed his hands from on top of John’s to run them down his sides. John turned around in Sherlock’s grasp so they could face each other, and put his arms around Sherlock’s neck. On a slightly more even playing field, John allowed a flirtatious smile of his own take over his face. Leaning up to mouth at Sherlock’s neck, John plotted a path from his jaw to the shell of his ear.

“Hmm, so what _are_ you hungry for then?”

Still smirking, Sherlock drew John in for a slow kiss.

“I’m hungry for... _takeout_.”

Pulling back abruptly, John gaped at Sherlock as his wicked grin quickly turned shit-eating. Sherlock burst out laughing, tugging John back to fit snuggly into his chest. After a minute, John began laughing too, hugging Sherlock back.

~~~

“You manic,” John said fondly after they had both calmed down. Sherlock could only grin and hold him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to those who celebrate it, and for those who don't, I hope you're having a good day too :) This drabble is one of my favorites so far, it was written by G. Thanks for everyone who takes the time to read, comment, and leave kudos!  
> xx  
> ~C


	7. Gunshot

**Gunshot**

_A shot fired from a gun_

********

Bang.

 

One bullet, one husband, one lucky shot.

 

Bang.

 

Two eyes with tears flowing freely.

 

Bang.

 

Three days before John was declared dead.

 

Bang.

 

Four months before Sherlock left the flat, and it was only to go see Mycroft. Sherlock just couldn't stand the place anymore, it reminded him of too many memories.

 

Bang.

 

Five needles pierced into Sherlock's arm, pumping his veins full of drugs to make him forget.

 

Six minutes before Mrs. Hudson noticed the lack of movement and went to check on the sole occupant of 221B.

 

Seven minutes before the ambulance arrived. It was already too late.

 

Eight attempts made by the paramedics to save the genius who had already been dead for months, since the moment his beloved doctor had hit the floor.

 

Nine minutes it took to transport the body from the flat to the morgue.

 

Ten years, and the husbands were still laying side by side in the lonely cemetery.

 

At least they were together now.

 

FIN.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So C finally decided to take a stab at angst, and I have to say, I'm pretty proud of her, ouch. Anyway, as always, thank you so much for reading and taking the time to comment and leave kudos!
> 
> -G


	8. Handsome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hope you've been having a really nice day so far! :) 
> 
> You might have noticed that this chapter is being posted a bit later than usual, and I'm sorry to say that such pattern might continue. My spring break just ended, and though C is on hers, she's away on a trip and unable to post. But don't worry, we planned ahead, so the chapters will still be posted on a daily basis.
> 
> Anyway, the point was that the chapters will probably be posted around this time instead of earlier. Just in case anyone was interested in knowing. :)
> 
> -G

**Handsome**

_Pleasing in appearance, especially by reason of conformity to ideals of form and proportion_

********

 

Sherlock has never believed that he is handsome.

 

Yes, he believes he’s good looking enough to get by, but he never thought of himself as particularly handsome. He isn’t the “ideal” sort of bloke people would look for on the streets, and he is almost positive he sticks out like a raven in a flock of doves. Why else would everyone always be staring otherwise?

 

~~~

 

John always has such a strange habit though.

 

He seems to have the funny impression that Sherlock is the most handsome man, and so he’s taken to telling Sherlock this quite often.

 

It’s always there; a whisper in the dark, a playful joke, a heated cry.

 

Sherlock can’t understand it. He knows he isn’t handsome, he doesn’t conform to the set standards of beauty. It's maddening, the tug-of-war between the desire to preen under the compliment and the urge to explain why he would never be handsome. So whenever John tells him, he simply pastes on a small smile, so that they can get back to whatever it was they were doing. He doesn’t want to upset John over something as trivial as this, and there is no need to correct his beliefs, not really. It's nice to hear it anyway, even if it isn’t true. It's hardly a sacrifice on Sherlock’s part.

 

He just wishes he knew what John sees in him.

 

~~~

Perhaps in the future Sherlock will come to understand that John never thought of him as handsome. Sherlock could never be just handsome, not to John.

 

John sees Sherlock as pure, unadulterated beauty of both the mind and body. He knows Sherlock doesn’t conform to what everyone else wants, and how lucky for him, because then he gets to have him all to himself.

 

Sherlock is unique, and otherworldly, and the most beautiful thing John has ever seen.

~~~

Sometimes John hopes to god no one else can see it, hopes that it can be his secret to keep.

 

But of course, no such luck.

 

For why else would everyone always be staring otherwise?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	9. Interstellar

**Interstellar**

_Occurring or situated between stars_

*********

Everyone is just stardust really. We're all just collections of atoms, floating on a speck we call a planet in a galaxy that came from an explosion.

We live on a floating rock that orbits a great ball of fire.

And if all of this is possible, then why couldn't John just muster up the courage to ask Sherlock out?

In the grand scheme of things, John knew he and Sherlock were likely to be forgotten quickly. They were two men living in twentieth century London, not great kings or mighty warriors. They solved crimes for a living and sometimes made it in the papers. But media is temporary, and so were their lives. John knew all this.

It was the only thing holding him back, and also, the only thing pushing him forward.

**~~~**

One Friday night, after a particularly brutal case, John mustered up the courage to finally ask Sherlock on a date. The man in question was sprawled on the couch, taking more room than should be physically possible, considering he was so lanky. The moment seemed just right, and just as John was about to speak, he was interrupted—

"John, would you like to maybe, um.... go out to dinner tomorrow?"

John almost burst out laughing. The two were so in sync it was scary sometimes.

Instead, he smiled and replied, "Of course, Sherlock. That sounds great."

**~~~**

It is a fact well known that the Earth is suspended in a galaxy, which is located in the universe. We're all just atoms, really.

We're all interstellar.

 

FIN.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By C


	10. Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Possessive!lock for the soul. Sorry this chapter is being posted so late today, time got away from me. Please accept this long drabble to make up for it ;)
> 
> -G

**Jealous**

_Intolerant of rivalry or unfaithfulness_

********

Sherlock and John had a _very_ strong sense of trust in one another.

 

They had both been through everything together, and John was almost positive he would never again be surprised by the things he saw.

 

This, however, was something he _definitely_ had not been expecting.

 

~~~

They didn’t go out to eat very often; Well, that is, not to restaurants other than Angelo’s. Most of the time they were too busy with a case, or Sherlock wouldn’t be in the mood for anything. And yes, maybe those were all just excuses, and every time John picked up a takeout menu this thought fluttered through his head.

 

John thought it was rather nice to go out, but it was hard to leave the flat when Sherlock made such nice promises of what was going to come right after dinner…

 

John did miss the atmosphere of it all though. The feeling of being on a proper date with Sherlock, where he could flaunt him as much as he pleased.

 

John liked to think that Sherlock liked flaunting him too.

 

~~~

This happened to be one of those special occasions, and to John’s great surprise, it was Sherlock who had asked to go out. Perhaps he was still flying a bit too high due to the recently solved case, but John certainly wasn’t complaining.

 

Grinning widely, they made their way into a cab, and to a small restaurant.

 

It was a nice, modest place. There couldn’t have been more than 10 tables or booths in the entire place, but John liked the intimacy of the small tables. Sherlock was smiling big and beautiful, and John thought it really was a shame that they didn’t go out more often.

 

Then the waiter came along.

 

John was well aware how impossible it would be for him and Sherlock to be mistaken as “just friends”. Their fingers were interlaced and sitting on the table, and underneath their legs were happily tangled.

 

And yet, this waiter _could not take a hint._

 

Walking up to the table, he seemed to be undressing John with his eyes. Giving John what he could only assume was his “flirting face”, he asked what their orders was. John noticed how he lingered over his order in particular, and knew it was far too much to hope that Sherlock hadn’t.

 

The consulting detective himself had gone from being easy and relaxed to stiff and agitated in a matter of seconds.

 

The effect when the waiter left was immediate.

 

Sherlock face, which had developed into a scowl when the waiter was there, shifted into one of great annoyance.

 

Pushing himself closer to John in the booth, he leaned down to whisper in his ear.

 

“That man is more of an idiot than Anderson if he thinks he can take you from me. Doesn’t he see that you’re **mine**?”

 

John chuckled in response. “There’s no need to worry love. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t see, because I do.”

 

Sherlock smiled at that, and let him arm settle around John’s shoulders.

 

Turning his head, he placed a kiss on John’s temple, and John leaned back on him contentedly.

 

~~~

  
The waiter got the message loud and clear when he found Sherlock and John wrapped around each other as he came back with their order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	11. Kiss

**Kiss**

_To touch with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, reverence, or greeting._

*******

 

There are three ways Sherlock kisses John, each one with a different purpose, and each one brought on by a different emotion.

 

~~~

 

First is a simple kiss on the cheek or a quick peck on the lips. This type of kiss always makes John smile. It is Sherlock's simple way of saying, "I haven't gone anywhere and I don't plan to." Sherlock gives these types of kisses often, when he is reading next to John, the two are eating dinner, or something of that sort.

 

~~~

 

The second type of kiss is rather chaste. These types are brought on when Sherlock is feeling overwhelmed; they help bring him down to Earth. Something about the feeling of John's lips against his own helps him to concentrate. John thinks it's beautiful. It almost overwhelms him to think that this mad genius needs him to focus.

 

~~~

 

In John's opinion, the third type of kiss is the best. Sherlock's final way of kissing John is passionate, brought on by the heat of the moment. Sherlock would grab John's face and roughly smash their lips together. John will then proceed to move his hands into Sherlock's hair, as he loves the texture of Sherlock's curls. John loves these kisses more than almost anything else in the world.

 

~~~

 

In the eyes of John Hamish Watson, the way Sherlock kisses should be counted as an eighth wonder of the world.

 

 

  
FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By C


	12. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there :) First of all, I would like to apologize for this drabble's tardiness. I ended up having a really busy day yesterday, and my planning just didn't mesh. C thought it would be funny to say that this chapter is "L-ate", and I think that's the best way we can look at it. Once again, sorry for the wait. We should be back on track now, and a new drabble will be posted on time tomorrow. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!!
> 
> G

**Love**

_An intense feeling of deep affection_

*******

 

For a long time, John thought he knew what being in love felt like.

 

He knew the happy, affectionate feeling of seeing someone you loved. He knew what it felt like to want to spend all of your time with someone. He had doted on people, and wanted to impress his dates before. He had cuddled before, and shared very intimate moments with people before.

 

John Watson had never been in love the way he was in love with Sherlock.

 

~~~

 

The only word he could think to describe it was _intense_. Everything about their love was intense.

 

Perhaps it was because Sherlock hadn’t really dated before John, but Sherlock threw himself wholeheartedly into their relationship. Gone were the days of “caring isn’t an advantage”, and come were those of sentiment.

 

Sherlock loved intensely.

 

John could see it in the way Sherlock looked at him, could feel it in the way Sherlock held him. He could taste it in the way Sherlock kissed him, could hear it in the way Sherlock spoke to him.

 

Perhaps this is why the Holmes’ fought to ignore their emotions.

 

They felt far too intensely to do otherwise.

 

~~~

 

Being in love with Sherlock made John feel just as intensely as he did.

 

He came to love the intense feeling of running through the streets with him, or that of being under Sherlock’s gaze.

 

There even seemed to be a quiet intensity to being in the same room with him, no matter what they happened to be doing.

 

~~~

 

And for all that everything felt so intense, John couldn’t remember a time when he had been more comfortable with a lover.

 

John was a man of the battlefield, and the constant intensity of being in love with Sherlock always gave him the feel of such.

 

It was beautiful, and it was unlike anything John had ever had with anyone else.

 

It was...love.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	13. Metaphor

**Metaphor**

_A figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable_

*********

 

Loving John Hamish Watson was like finding the perfect piece to a puzzle.

 

Sherlock Holmes had always looked at life as a solitary journey; He simply drifted through his days with an inability to connect (both physically and mentally) to another person.

 

That is, until he met John.

 

In all the places Sherlock was lacking, John excelled. The kind doctor was patient in ways Sherlock could hardly fathom; on days when society was being especially loathsome, John was tolerant of Sherlock's complaints. While Sherlock was rude and, in general, antisocial, John was outgoing.

 

It worked on the flip side as well. While John believed in keeping his private life between him and Sherlock, his boyfriend enjoyed showing the world who John belonged to. When they were out and about, Sherlock would gently place his hand at the small of John's back, as if to tell the world _mineminemine._

 

Sherlock loved to perform, John took pleasure in sitting in an audience. On days when John needed to relax, Sherlock would sit him down in his chair and let the music ground his boyfriend. These situations served both of them: playing helped Sherlock think, and listening helped John calm down from a tiresome day.

 

The two completed each other.

 

Sherlock may be a genius, but he would be lost without his blogger.

 

FIN

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By C


	14. Nightmare

**Nightmare**

_A frightening or unpleasant dream_

*********

John had nightmares when he got back from the war. It wasn’t surprising; anyone who had seen the things he had would.

John always thought there was something so wrong about it. Nightmares came from nowhere but one’s own mind, and John couldn’t help thinking it always was there, waiting until night had fallen to strike.

Waiting until he was vulnerable, and unable to protect himself.

He couldn’t understand it; how he would wake up screaming, and sobbing, and the only one to have done anything to him was himself.

Now he knew this wasn’t entirely true. He hadn’t killed all of those men, he hadn’t hurt them.

He was only the one who couldn’t always save them.

~~~

Things were different with Sherlock. 

John supposed there was always too many other things on his mind, he was always too distracted to cater to the darkness of his own mind.

John couldn’t say he was sorry to see them go.

Rather, he felt much safer, and much more secure with himself. Safe and secure with Sherlock.

His sleep was plagued by nothing, but no dreams came to enchant him either.

~~~

When they fell into love, the dreams came back.

Sleeping with Sherlock curled around his back would make anyone dream. John had quite a lot of dreaming to catch up on, and he found that even in the day the dreams didn’t leave.

It was beautiful, getting to have Sherlock in his dreams and in his real life.

John couldn’t remember a time when he had been like this, when he had lived inside of a dream all the time.

Times with Sherlock were both wonderful and strange enough to qualify as such.

~~~

John understood as soon as he saw Sherlock standing at the top of St. Bart’s that everything with him really must have been a dream.

~~~

John had forgotten how sick nightmares were.

After the fall, his worst fears were confirmed; the darkness of his mind never left, simply lurked, waiting until he was vulnerable.

His shield was gone; there was no one curled around his back to protect him now.

There was no one to run to.

~~~

They only got worse.

The new ammunition his mind had combined with the old; It created a dangerous bullet, and one that it shot at him frequently.

Sand and curly hair and brilliant eyes and a beating sun and porcelain skin and the sound of guns and blood, always so much blood.

~~~

John wondered when he would wake up, when the sun would come peaking through and he would start to realize the warm weight resting along his back.

He had a strange feeling he would never wake up, but that was only his slumbering brain talking of course.

He had to be sleeping.

There was no other way to explain this nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble by G


	15. Oi

**Oi**

_British informal exclamation used to attract someone's attention, especially in a rough or angry way_

********

"Oi! Sherlock!"

 

Sherlock spun around at the call, glancing up to see his boyfriend jogging over to him. John had just come from rugby practice, Sherlock could tell by the dirt under his fingernails and the extra button left undone on John's shirt. (Sherlock also knew this because rugby practice was everyday after school, but it was always beneficial to practice deductions. .)

 

Sherlock was almost to his locker, where he planned to drop off his books before heading home. He had just finished up with his meeting of the chemistry club. (Completely pointless and led by a group of imbeciles, but Sherlock supposed it looked good on a University application.) Sherlock was surprised to see John; Rugby practice typically lasted a bit longer than chemistry. On top of that, John usually stayed a bit after practice to speak with the coach, seeing as he was the team captain.

 

"Hello beautiful." John had caught up to Sherlock, and was now walking beside him.

 

Planting a quick kiss on his cheek, he said, "Mind if I walk you home? Practice ended early, Coach wanted us to spend time studying for finals next week. Wants us to keep our grades up, ya know?"

 

Sherlock's lips pulled up in a quick smile at the prospect of company on his walk.

 

"Alright, we shall walk home together. Do you need assistance in studying for exams next week? I could help you figure out some of the more complex problems, I find them incredibly simplistic, and could explain them easily."

 

John laughed. "Sounds good Sherlock. Does Saturday at mine work?"

 

Sherlock replied, "Saturday will be satisfactory."

 

The two boys smirked inside their heads, for both parties knew that no actual studying would be happening on Saturday.

 

John figured getting a B on the final would be worth it.

  
  


FIN

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By C


	16. Praise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just a heads up:
> 
> This chapter contains headcanon Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, so they are DEFINITELY different than how they appear in the show. There is also a very brief (and actually kinda subtle) mention of adultery, so if this bothers you, just skip the first section of this work. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and leaving comments and kudos!
> 
> -G

**Praise**

_To express warm approval or admiration of._

********

 

All of his life, Sherlock had been told that he was strange, or different, or that he simply put people off.

 

It hurt. For a little boy no more than 8, he didn’t understand why no one liked him. He didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to talk about the strange perfume on Father’s jacket, or the way Mummy would cry at night when no one was awake. Sherlock always just knew these things; It wasn’t really his fault he wanted to share them. It was interesting, and he wanted to prove he was just as wise as anyone else in the family, just as clever.

 

Then came the rage, and the scolding, and the classes for manners, and the “Why don’t you know your place, your brother does!”.

 

Sherlock learned quickly that staying silent was the best option.

 

The thought that he might receive praise became a bitterly comical to him

 

~~~

 

Years later, Sherlock feels like an eight year old boy again, with his eyes taking over his face as they grow large.

 

Only this is different, because he never got any praise as a child, and no one ever bothered to tell him he’s brilliant.

 

Sherlock decides then and there that he is going to keep John Watson.

 

~~~

 

John isn’t blind to how much Sherlock enjoys his praise.

 

His eyes light up, almost matching the expression he makes when he is brought on to a new case.

 

It amazes John; To think that Sherlock’s weak spot is being told of his worth...It’s simply baffling. Surely he must see it, he holds himself in a way that implies that he does.

 

And yet, John knows this is all only just a front he puts up.

 

Sherlock never bothers to give himself the credit and praise he deserves.

 

Well, that’s all well and good to John, for he has decided that his new mission will be to make these facts well known to the man himself.

 

~~~

 

Sherlock loves being intimate with John for more ways than one.

 

Aside from the getting off bit and the connecting as one part, he can’t help but feel inordinately pleased with the praise John showers on him.

 

He thrives on it, the words and phrases John utters while they’re both gone.

 

He consumes the “yes”s and the “oh, that’s perfect, you’re perfect”s, and afterwards, the “you are so beautiful”s.

 

He could get drunk off how amazing they make him feel.

 

His John, his beautiful John, the only one who has ever loved him enough to tell him so. To make him feel as though he isn’t just a brain, as though his feelings mean something. As though he means something.

 

~~~

 

It hurts John to know that he hasn’t always been around, that he couldn’t tell Sherlock how special he was from Day 1.

 

He wishes he could have been the first one to hold Sherlock close, for if he had, Sherlock would have known how amazing he is.

 

In the end, John supposes none of this matters.

  
Sherlock knows now, and John has vowed that he will never forget again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	17. Quiet

**Quiet**

Absence of noise or bustle; silence; calm.

******

Have you ever heard anything as loud as silence?

Sherlock knew this statement was an impossibility. But, that's how it felt living as the sole occupant of 221B.

 

~~~

You see, a few months back, John had a heart attack.

He had been a healthy man, was kept active by the constant bustle of living with the consulting detective, but the disease ran in the family.

There was no stopping it, there was no cure.

It destroyed Sherlock to think that the thing he loved most about his partner had been slowly destroyed by John's own body.

It broke Sherlock to know that he couldn't have done anything to stop it.

He had felt so worthless. He had one of the brightest minds in the world, yet none of his knowledge could help. He was useless to John, and it killed him inside.

 

~~~

Which lead Sherlock to where he was now.

Laying on their bed, where he had not left for days.  He saw no point in leaving, for here was the only place where John's presence seemed to linger.

In the months since John had passed, Sherlock had gotten his affairs in order. He had settled his bank statements, paid off Mrs. Hudson, and had even solved a murder that had been plaguing him for years. He had written three letters, to the only three people left he loved.

Mycroft's letter entailed Sherlock's will, and a short note that was rather sentimental.

Lestrade's letter wished him and Mycroft a long and happy marriage, for the two were recently engaged. Their wedding was the only event Sherlock was disappointed he was going to miss. Sherlock supposed he was glad they had each other.

The final letter was for Mrs. Hudson. It only had two words, but Sherlock couldn't bear to write anymore. It simply said:

I'm sorry.

Sherlock saw no point in living now.

That was definitely the reason why he was laying in the place he planned to die, pumped full of a drug he hadn't used in years. His brain was slowly shutting down and Sherlock seemed to find that fitting: in their duo, John was the heart and he was the brain.

Their strengths had meant nothing in the end.

At least the chaos in Sherlock's mind was quiet now.

FIN.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By C


	18. Radioactive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry we've been posting so late lately (hehe, "late lately"), things have just been kind of crazy. However, it really has been my fault, so if you're looking to blame someone, I understand :)
> 
> -G

**Radioactive**

_Emitting or relating to the emission of ionizing radiation or particles_

********

 

Sometimes, looking at Sherlock overwhelmed John.

 

There was just so much about him that was so powerful.

 

His brain, his looks, his demeanor.

 

Everything, just exuding power, authority.

 

Anyone would be overwhelmed.

 

~~~

 

John supposed it made him feel rather plain in comparison sometimes.

 

What was he, compared to all that?

 

An ex-army doctor, a normal doctor now.

 

A soldier, once.

 

But not now.

 

There wasn’t much he had to give, he thought to himself.

 

Not compared to Sherlock.

 

~~~

 

At least he could love Sherlock with power.

 

If there was nothing else he had to offer, it would be himself.

 

Sherlock could take it all, every part of himself.

 

He just prayed he would be good enough to give.

 

~~~

 

John realized later that giving your entire self to someone was quite dangerous.

 

It gave them the power to destroy you, to set off a bomb in your life if they so pleased.

 

A bomb that was radioactive, so that even if you think you’re safe, it’ll always end up killing you in the end.

 

~~~

 

But perhaps that’s why John did it, even though it was dangerous.

 

John knew that one day, if he so wanted to, Sherlock could destroy him completely and totally.

 

With all that power, it wouldn’t be hard at all.

 

Sherlock could devastate him.

 

But John would gladly take it, if it would make him happy.

 

~~~

 

John seemed to forget, however, that some bombs never detonate.

 

Some bombs are never launched, so they never explode.

 

Yes, they have the power to, but they never do.

 

Sherlock was a bomb, but John always held the remote.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	19. Simple

**Simple**

_Easily understood; plain, basic or uncomplicated in form, nature, or design_

*******

 

John Hamish Watson was one of the most uncomplicated people Sherlock had ever met.

 

Every morning, the doctor would wake up at exactly 7:00. He would then proceed to take an eleven minute shower, and put on a jeans and a jumper. John headed to the kitchen next to make himself oatmeal and tea. This routine would occur

 

Every.

 

Single.

 

Day.

 

~~~

 

Sherlock grew used to John's morning patterns, grew used to maneuvering around the ex-soldier in the kitchen or their bedroom.

 

John's routine was safe, comfortable.

 

~~~

 

John Hamish Watson was one of the most uncomplicated people Sherlock had ever met.

 

Yet, he was complex in nature, his very existence a paradox to Sherlock.

 

Running through the streets with John, chasing a criminal or murderer, was probably when Sherlock fell even more in love with the man.

 

And when the two collapsed, panting and exhausted, in their bed at night, Sherlock would pull John close.

 

He knew the next morning would begin as every other, and that was the most comforting thought of all.

 

~~~

 

John may have been a simple man, yet he was the greatest puzzle Sherlock ever got the privilege to solve.

 

John Hamish Watson was a walking enigma.

  
  


FIN

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By C


	20. Tender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings, 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is a bit late. I developed a massive headache yesterday, and sadly was forbidden from going on my computer for my own good. As everything's fine now, here's the drabble that was meant for yesterday. Ironically, it's a sick fic, so it would have been rather appropriate for yesterday anyway. ;)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!!!
> 
> -G

**Tender**

_Showing gentleness and concern or sympathy_

********

 

The first thing John heard when he woke up was a snuffle.

 

Then another.

 

Then a sharp inhale.

 

Then a rather violent sneeze.

 

Uh-oh.

 

~~~

 

A sick Sherlock was a grumpy Sherlock.

 

He was bedridden (though most of the time,couchridden would be more appropriate), and therefore was unable to take any new cases.

 

And god, how it killed him.

 

He felt rather scandalized that his ungrateful transport had decided to rebel...Wait, no, his...body. John said he wasn’t allowed to think of his body as “simply transport”, and of course he wasn’t willing to upset John, no matter how sick he was feeling.

 

As another sneeze tore out of him, Sherlock considered shoving aside all he had just thought about and berating his body for being ridiculous.

 

Sorry John.

 

~~~

 

John would never tell, but he actually found sick Sherlock adorable.

 

As long as he wasn’t feeling too foul, Sherlock became a massive cuddle bug, and John was only too happy to oblige.

 

He would wrap himself around John no matter what he was doing or where they were in the flat.

 

His routine was to shove his face as far into John’s neck as physically possible, and just sort of snuffle there.

 

Then John would reach over and pat those thick curl soothingly, and it would usually end with Sherlock’s head in John’s lap, and a very satisfying head massage.

It didn’t really help with the cold, but it sure as hell made Sherlock feel better.

 

~~~

 

Aside from sweet-snuffling-little-kitten Sherlock, John just loved taking care of him.

 

As a doctor, it was his job to make people feel better, and there was just so much more meaning that came with making Sherlock feel better.

 

It was...intimate.

 

Sherlock allowed John to see him in a sick state, and allowed John to take care of him.

 

John had no doubt that if Sherlock really wanted to, he could shut John out.

 

John was constantly blown away by the amount of trust Sherlock showed him, and he could only respond by giving him the most tender care and the most avid attention.

 

John would always take care of Sherlock.

 

It wasn’t a question, and there were no conditions.

  
That was simply what he was made to do, he was almost sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	21. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love me a good case fic ;)

**Undercover**

_(_ of _a person) involving secret work within a community or organization, especially for the purposes of police investigation_

_*********_

Sherlock and John's most recent case had been....unusual, to say the very least.

 

So far, it had involved six trained criminals, a dog in the nighttime, and an orange sundress.

 

Sherlock was enthralled to finally find some work above a seven.

 

And John was happy for him.

 

Really, he was. Cases got Sherlock out of the house and helped to curb his seemingly constant boredom.

 

But, this? This plan was a going a bit too far.

 

~~~

 

The job had started on Monday, when Lestrade had rushed into their flat. He had demanded Sherlock's attention and explained, in detail, what the case involved. He warned Sherlock that it would be dangerous.

 

That only seemed to excite the consulting detective.

 

Lestrade told Sherlock that the royal family were being hunted down by a secret organization who plotted to overthrow the government.

 

And Sherlock didn't buy it.

 

Until the gunshots had started.

 

~~~

 

Which lead them to where there were now, on the night of their big investigation, where the police had taken the men out onto a moor. The organization had been rumored to meet there on occasion.

 

After the events that transpired at their flat, Sherlock was convinced something sinister was happening in London. Both he and John were fine, of course, but the danger had definitely piqued Sherlock's interest.

 

Sherlock was going undercover tonight.

 

Lestrade and the police had infiltrated the organization's system and entered data for Sherlock that made it seem that Sherlock was one of the assassins. Because the organizations was so secretive, the killers had never met before that night, so Sherlock would be able to blend in.

 

That is, if he didn't get caught and shot first.

 

And John was probably more scared than Sherlock was.

 

He was currently in the back of the black police car, clutching Sherlock's hand for dear life. Sherlock simply smiled at John, and leaned over to kiss him on the corner of his mouth.

 

"John, I will be perfectly alright. Lestrade and the force will be with me the entire time, and you can watch from the windows. I promise you, John Watson, that I will come out of this as healthy as I am right now."

 

Sherlock then leaned in a bit closer, and whispered in John's ear, "I love you."

 

And it was exactly what John needed to let go. Sherlock was safe, and even though the man was insane, John trusted him completely.

 

John trusted Sherlock's acting skills, and his ability to go undercover.

 

John trusted that Sherlock would keep himself out of harm's way, simply because he was the most valuable thing in John's world.

 

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble by C, Love you all!! :)


	22. Virgin

**Virgin**

_A person who is naive, innocent, or inexperienced, especially in a particular context._

************

Sherlock doesn’t believe he has ever been in love before.

 

Sure there were the so-called “boyfriends” of the past, which were more like glorified fuck-buddies if everyone was being honest, but they had never made him feel like this.

 

They had never stayed with him in bed, just to sleep, just to hold him close, just to let the sweet silence speak for itself for a moment.

 

They had never made him breakfast in the mornings, or taken the time to force him to eat it, or fed it to him if they were feeling particularly playful.

 

They had never run through the streets with him, or killed for him, or come to the morgue with him.

 

They had never memorized the way he takes his tea, or his favorite take-out places, or the things on the menu he’ll eat without prompting.

 

They had never loved him like this, and he can’t say he loved them like this either.

 

Sherlock doubted that anyone had ever loved him like this, anyone who wasn’t family.

 

And like hell it didn’t terrify him.

 

~~~

 

Sherlock was brave, but this was beyond.

 

Sherlock was sure, but this was scary.

 

Sherlock was wise, but this was a whirlwind.

 

Sherlock was fierce, but this was frightening.

 

~~~

 

Sherlock was unsure, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

~~~

 

It didn’t matter that Sherlock had never given his heart to someone before; No one had been ready to take all of him.

 

No one but his brave soldier.

 

Oh, he was scared, but he wanted this.

 

For the first time in a long time, Sherlock was ready to let his heart out of it’s protective box, to give it to someone else.

 

Sherlock knew it was a risk, knew he still could be ruined.

 

But it didn’t matter.

 

Everyone else had failed,

 

Because they were never John.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	23. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I went to a Speech and Debate tournament today, and I sort of fell in love with poetry all over again. Enjoy! :)  
> xo  
> C (oh and I wrote the drabble too)

**Winter**

_the coldest season of the year, which occurs after autumn and before spring_

********

 

**Winter Love: A Short Poem**

 

With the coldest season just round the bend,

 

A certain consulting detective had adopted a trend

 

Of holding his husband extremely close and tight

 

With refusal to let go all through the night.

  
  


 

Said husband would puff and pretend to be mad

 

However both men knew he was glad

 

To be held in such a way where he could not possibly forget

 

who he belonged to- that message was sure sent.

  
  


 

And when the good doctor awoke to soft sunlight

 

he knew the genius in his arms was just right

 

he planned to spend all of his days with the man

 

and in his mind that was an excellent plan.

  
  


 

Winter was merely a few weeks away

 

And the ex-soldier was certainly not dismayed

 

when the first snow of the year began to fall

 

seeing as the consulting detective was the only thing he needed-

 

and that was all.

  
_FIN_


	24. Xenophilia

**Xenophilia**

_An affection for unknown/foreign objects or people_

************

 

It’s always been funny to Sherlock how little people notice.

 

It’s almost disconcerting; here are the people around us who have to take care of us, but they never have a clue.

 

As far as Sherlock is concerned, they might as well be walking around with their eyes closed.

 

~~~

 

Such behavior is only acceptable from one person, and that is because Sherlock is there, with him, to open his eyes.

 

Besides, he was the one who cracked them open first, who had the first glimpse.

 

Yes, John Watson is the one and only man Sherlock has known in the world to open his eyes.

 

And to have him open his eyes and want to look...Sherlock was certain he would never let go.

 

~~~

 

Oh, people knew Sherlock was different, but only John knew the extent to which this was true.

 

So many thought he was inhuman.

 

So many were right.

 

~~~

 

Well, somewhat right, as John put it.

 

Sherlock was too human to not be human, as he also tried to put it.

 

Sherlock found all of this very endearing, and as long as John loved him for who he was, there was nothing else to say about the matter.

 

John didn’t care that he had wings, why should he?

 

~~~

 

John was so wonderful.

 

Not only did he accept Sherlock’s wings, he embraced them.

 

At first, after John had found out, it had been so Sherlock was comfortable in the flat.

 

He would let his large, dark wings hang out, modifying his dressing gowns to accommodate them.

 

Sherlock had thought that John would be rather pleased that he would be wearing only the dressing gown as a top, without a shirt.

 

But John’s favorite part seemed to be the wings himself.

 

Where Sherlock was sure repulsion would fester, only affection bloomed.

 

John would come into the kitchens in the mornings and give Sherlock a kiss, sliding his hand from Sherlock’s shoulder to his wing, and giving it a firm rub.

 

It felt rather good, and wing massages quickly became a favorite activity and new bribe material.

 

John just seemed to love them; He would touch them fondly, come up behind Sherlock and bury his face in them, allow their silken feather to blanket him in the night.

 

Sherlock was gratified.

 

John didn’t think he was a horrible monster, or a freak, or any of the (as he thought) ironically true names that people called him.

 

No, he was just as John called him.

 

He was John’s angel, and John loved him all the more for it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble By G


	25. Yawn

**Yawn**

_a reflex act of opening one's mouth wide and inhaling deeply due to tiredness or boredom_

**********

John had been told by countless sources that if you want to know if someone is watching you, then yawn. Something about brain receptors and animalistic instincts, John had long forgotten the science behind the advice.

 

And he’d never thought he would have to use that small and somewhat random piece of knowledge.

 

~~~

 

However, here he was, a man in his thirties, trying to figure out if a certain someone liked him back. He felt like he was back in primary school, for crying out loud.

 

Sherlock was just so…clueless sometimes. For a literal genius, the man was pretty out of tune to social cues.

 

Like when John had asked him out to dinner, and then Sherlock had brought a date.

 

Boy, was that a disaster.

 

So John had to go back to the drawing board, and figure out a way to know if Sherlock really even noticed him.

 

And so far, he had managed to collect lots of data.

 

Whenever John faked a yawn, Sherlock would respond to it within a minute.

 

Every.

Single.

Time.

 

John had even timed it in his head, it was always within sixty seconds.

 

He was pretty pleased with his data.

 

And there came a time where John asked Sherlock if he liked him as more than a flatmate.

 

And of course, Sherlock’s response was yes.

 

~~~

 

Which led to today, with both men wrapped around each other on the couch.

 

And as a certain consulting detective drifted off to sleep, his mouth opened in some semblance of a yawn.

 

This time, it was John's turn to respond.

 

For some reason, his yawn always ended up being within sixty second of Sherlock’s.

 

Every.

Single.

Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry to say this will be my last drabble in this series :( I had so much fun with my coauthor writing all these mini fics for you lovely people, and needless to say, I will miss it very, very much. However, there is no need to fear, we have a special announcement about what will be happening after this series is done. But, I'll leave that to G to tell you all tomorrow. And of course, we'll always be around to reply to comments and things like that. (P.S. thanks to all those dedicated people who leave kudos and comments on every chapter- you know who you are and we love you for it) If you're yearning for more of our writing, you can check out some of our other stories on the archive. See you all very soon!  
> xo  
> C


	26. Zugzwang

**Zugzwang**

_A situation in which the obligation to make a move in one’s turn is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage._

************

 

It was funny now, to think of it; How strained things used to be.

 

It was funny to think about it, Sherlock thought, as he laid peacefully in John’s arms.

 

Yes, it was funny indeed.

 

~~~

 

Sherlock could remember it all, quite clearly.

 

There was a special room in his mind palace just for it, but it was small, and slightly uncomfortable to be in, just like their situation used to be.

 

There’s all sorts of things in there.

 

The small touches from John that he would try to ignore.

 

The eye contact he couldn’t help but making.

 

All of the intensity, the unconducted energy that always seemed to clog up any room they were both in.

 

The Before Room.

 

~~~

 

Really, it was Sherlock’s fault that this room existed.

 

He supposed it was because he had been pushing people away for so long, but that just seemed like an excuse.

 

You see, Sherlock hadn’t always been ready for John’s love, for the sentiment.

 

So he had pushed, and pushed, and pushed.

 

It was as though they were locked in an intense game of chess; Both were so determined to win, both were so clever.

 

John, with his relentless gentleness, his disarming nature.

 

Sherlock, with his calculating manner, his strong walls.

 

However, someone was bound to give sometime.

 

~~~

 

They reached their zugzwang at a peculiar time, or at least Sherlock perceived it as strange.

 

It was a morning like any other, and Sherlock doubted that John would be moving any of his pieces today.

 

It was his day off from the surgery, and so John came down the stairs, looking well rested and comfortable, and simply smiled at Sherlock in morning greeting.

 

And that was it.

 

It was as if all of John’s pieces had suddenly moved on their own to create the perfect trap, because suddenly Sherlock couldn’t do it any more.

 

Suddenly, it didn’t seem so much like a zugzwang, it seemed like the choice that had been obvious all along.

 

And John could any be happy in bewilderment, as one moment he was smiling at Sherlock from across the room, and the next he was smiling on Sherlock’s lips.

 

~~~

  
Sherlock has never been happier to lose a game before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> So, this stunning series has come to an end I suppose. Also, I would like to apologize for keeping you in suspense for another day...We'll blame that one on my dramatic personality ;) So, like my coauthor said the other day, we have some exciting news about our next project:
> 
> It is... *Drum Roll*
> 
> A sister series to this one!
> 
> We've decided that our next set of drabbles will be just like this one, with one for every letter of the English alphabet. The twist this time is that they will be centered on the ship Mystrade (Mycroft/Lestrade)!!
> 
> We should be releasing the first chapter of that series very soon, so look forward to it :D
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for being so involved in this fic, and sending us so many nice comments!!
> 
>  
> 
> Drabble By G


End file.
